


with your shield (or on it)

by Echo (Lyrecho)



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Character Death, Gen, In Defiance of Fate, Role Reversal, relationship can be seen as either platonic or romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-17 12:43:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12366045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyrecho/pseuds/Echo
Summary: It is the Duty of the Shield to Protect the King.Gladio has had those words and their meaning engraved into his soul since long before he was born - and he'll fulfil them, even if he has to defy the gods, destiny and death to do so.It is a promise.|Tumblr||Twitter|





	with your shield (or on it)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mushydesserts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mushydesserts/gifts).



> fun fact: I listened to 'Is' from the Zankyou no Terror OST pretty much on repeat while writing this, so maybe play it in the background if you want the full effect!
> 
> (apologies to the giftee if this isn't exactly what you wanted! it truly was a lovely prompt, and this is just where my inspiration and muse took me!)

From the moment Gladio is old enough to understand, he knows he was born for the prince. _His_ prince, like the king once was for his father before him.

It’s why he’s older, why he was born first – why the Shield must _always_ be born first.

The King doesn’t exist without their Shield, ever, not from the moment they’re born. And if his father’s words are to be believed, the only time that the King will exist without their Shield is when the Shield has died – because, of course, the Shield must always die before their King, in _defence_ of their King. For the situation to be anything otherwise…would be an Amicitia’s greatest disgrace.

 _It is the Shield's Duty to Protect the King_.

Gladiolus Amicitia remembers the first time he ever heard those words perfectly. Over the years, it would become a constant mantra, both lesson and reminder - but it was that first time that had burned the words into him, engraved the meaning into his soul.

King, Shield, Duty. The three constants that made up every monarch's time as the reigning King of Lucis, and Gladio had always been determind to fulfill his part, just like his father had before him. He was glad that he'd still pretty much been a baby himself when Noctis had been born - if he'd had to wait years for _his_ King, like his great-grandfather had (over a decade before the Rogue had been born; he'd had to wait _that_ long), he wasn't quite sure he would have survived it - or, at least, survived the training, since it was Noct and that driving sense of duty that made the daily brutal beatdowns bearable at all.

 _This is for your King,_ he reminds himself when his muscles burn under the strain of forcing himself to so much as _stand_ , and his gritted teeth bite deep enough into his lips to draw blood. _It is the Shield's duty to protect the King_.

The words may be a little empty when both he and his King are kept safe and secluded in the citadel - but Gladio knows that won't always be the case, so he fills that mantra with purpose, and makes to himself a promise, a vow, that countless Amicitia Shields before him must have also made; when the time comes for him to protect his King, he will _damn sure_ be ready.

-x-

Ignis Scientia is, at first, an entity Gladio isn't sure where to place in the categories that fill his head - that he's just instinctively started shoving people into after gauging who, exactly, they are.

He's no 'threat,' that's for sure. His father and the King seem to think of him as an 'ally,' and expect for them to be 'friends,' but - there's a small part of Gladio that feels slighted. Not by how Noctis seems to prefer spending time with Ignis to spending time with him (his King is a sullen brat that can be hard to get along with during the _best_ of times) - but by the fact that _Ignis_ , introduced to him as an advisor and _scholar_ , has started joining him in his training.

People in the royal retinue have to be trained, it's true. While the Shield may protect the King, there's no guarantee enemies won't go for other members of the inner circle - best to just make sure all bases are covered.

But that he's being taught by his father, taught _alongside_ Gladio - do they doubt his ability to protect his King? Just because they haven't been getting along the best recently?

A cold dread sets in in the back of his mind. Are they - is Ignis...some sort of backup Shield? A replacement for him?

He asks his father quietly that night, once Iris has been tucked into bed and his mother has retired to her room for some light reading before she goes to sleep.

His father laughs - which wasn't exactly the reaction Gladio had been looking (or hoping) for - but upon seeing just how serious, how tense, his son is - he sobers.

"It's the _Shield's_ duty to protect the King," Gladio whispers, and stares at his feet, clenching his hands into fists and hoping that his father doesn't notice.

He does, of course, and Gladio starts despite himself when a far larger pair of hands close over his own. He looks up, to see that his father has moved from his seat across from him to kneel before him. Now, in this position, there's the illusion of them being the same height - equals, as their eyes meet without Gladio having to crane his head back.

"It is," his father agrees. "And you will, forever and always, be Noctis' only Shield." His frown is stern. "But if you think that means that you are, or will be, his only protecter - his only guard - then, my boy, I think I'm going to have several more lessons to teach you, and soon."

Gladio shakes his head - not a denial, so much as a gesture of pure _frustration_. "I'm not saying that," he says. "But - I don't see you personally training Glaives or Crownsguard." He hisses a breath through teeth he forcibly unclenches once he realises he's tensing his jaw. "I just don't understand why he's being trained with me, when I'm being trained as the Shield."

His father's eyes close, briefly, and for a brief moment Gladio is convinced he can see the heavy, premature age that lines have painted across his face. It's almost harrowing, and Gladio swallows when those eyes open once more, to reveal a gaze more tired and sorrow filled than anything he remembers seeing, ever.

"This generation needs to be better," he says softly. "You all need to be stronger - stronger than those that came before you; stronger than we were." He stands, and Gladio feels very small. "You need to succeed where we failed," he says, and places a warm, gentle hand on Gladio's head. "You're going to Shield the King, Gladiolus," he says. "But all of you - Noctis, Ignis, and you - are going to _protect eachother_."

Gladio swallows. "Right," he says, and feels a new determination in him as that once mantra he holds inside him irrevocably changes.

It is the Shield's duty to serve the King.

 _It is the Shield's duty to **protect**_.

It's a promise.

-x-

Once Gladio has gotten past his (admittedly stupid, looking back on it) jealousy and insecurities, Ignis turns out to be more than just pleasant company, or a diligent and skilled fighter.

(Quite happily, Gladio mentally places him into the 'friend' category.)

Even the prince's pouts over Ignis taking the time each day to socialise with Gladio - they're still not getting along the greatest, though Gladio is _trying_ , and it would be _really nice_ if His Royal Prissiness could get off of his high horse and _meet him halfway_ \- don't manage to sour his mood (...for the most part). His father's serious, melancholy words still stick in the back of his mind, almost like they're haunting him, and Gladio never truly _forgets_ about the gravity of the situation he is living in - but as time goes by, and the relationship between all three of them grows deeper, they fade from the forefront of his thoughts.

Outside of Insomnia lies the war, and Gladio knows that one day, they _will_ be the ones who have to deal with it - and as unrest within the capital itself grows everyday, he becomes aware that that day might come even sooner than he at first believed - sooner than he was ready for, to be completely honest. Niflheim is growing bolder and with every attack, they're losing territory. Refugees flee to Insomnia and plea for the King to authorise crusades to take back their homes; the King always refuses - with sorrow in his eyes, Gladio can tell, but from the bitterness and deep betrayal and abandonment that those turned away radiate as they leave the citadel to try and find shelter within the swiftly overcrowding city, he knows they can't.

It isn't just bitter from the refugees side, though - Insomnian born citizens are growing almost as bold as the empire, he thinks, and grits his teeth through the pain of broken, jagged glass shearing through skin. He'll live through his wound - but the drunken _dead man walking_ in front of him had been going for Noctis' throat, and that's something he could not, _ever_ , allow.

Once he's sure the man is down - if not for good, at least until the proper authorities arrive to deal with him - he turns to his charge, who is looking more than a little traumatised.

He's pale, but not trembling, and as filled with adrenalin as he is in that moment, Gladio can't remember enough of his first aid training to know if that's bad, good, or something in between. For all he can recall, it might not mean much of anything at all; Noctis is strong, and it was over in seconds - slightly shaken though he may be, there's no reason to automatically assume he's going to go into shock or something.

Still, there's just as much of a lack of reason to assume otherwise, so he walks up to his King and gently leads him into sitting on the sidewalk, where he draws his knees up to his chest, hugging his arms around them tight and pressing his head into the small alcove that forms.

Gladio frowns. "Hey, kid," he says. "You with me?"

A soft movement of hair that could have been a yes, no, shrug, or a particularly strong gust of air blowing down the street, and Gladio resists rolling his eyes. "With words, if you can," he says gently, and the strangled noise Noctis makes is almost inhuman.

" _Gladio_ ," he says sternly, and looks up from his knees. Gladio has to bite back a laugh - he doesn't know how hard Noctis had been pushing his head into legs, but it had to have been fairly hard, because there are two bright red blotches forming on his forehead as blood rushes back into the area. "How are you so calm right now? _You're bleeding_." He looks faintly ill as his gaze roves over Gladio's face, eyes tracking down the movement of the blood Gladio can still feel dripping out of his wound. "Like, a _lot_."

Gladio shrugs, careful to keep the wince off his face - he doesn't want to worry Noctis any more than he already has, and he _definitely_ doesn't want to tug on his wound any more; it's already going to scar, no point in making it even _worse._ "That's what head wounds do," he says, as reassuringly as he can. "They bleed a lot. I, uh - I can't tell you why, because I don't know, but I know that they _do_. It's one of the first things they teach you in the basic training."

Noctis blinks. "Huh," he says, and Gladio is relieved to see the first hints of colour coming back to his cheeks as he shifts in his seat on the sidewalk. "Why?" He asks. "Why is that, specifically, something they make sure you know?"

Gladio knows an attempt for a distraction when he sees one, and obliges Noctis with a quick answer. "If the blood gets in your eyes, that's a visibility issue," he says. "And if you're fighting, that's a survivability issue."

Noctis snorts, and some of the tension drains out of him. Gladio's relieved to see him relax - even though his father had assured him via text that they would be there as soon as humanly possible, if not quicker, he's still alone right now and kind of floundering - but then his gaze travels to the man lying still and unconscious on the pavement, and Gladio feels _himself_ tense up.

"What is it?" he asks, once he feels that Noctis' staring has gone on a bit too long - there's a hesitance and a sort of guilt in the prince's eyes that leave him feeling uneasy.

"People aren't happy with the royal family, are they?" He asks softly. "He was drunk, so I didn't really understand what he was saying - but I heard something about the refugees, I think." When his eyes meet Gladio's, they're dark. "This isn't something that's going to get better, is it," he says. It isn't a question, not really.

Gladio doesn't want to lie to his prince, to his _King_ \- but he can barely find the words to admit such a horrible truth to himself, so he simply nods.

Noctis closes his eyes and sighs. "Okay then," he says. "That's just one more thing for us to fix, I guess."

 _Us_ , Gladio thinks, and nods.

It is a promise.

-x-

The chance for their promises for change to be fulfilled come all too soon, at least for Gladio's liking. Years on from that drunken attack and little remains of it except memories and a scar that serves as a reminder of the quiet vow they had made that night, yet he still doesn't feel ready when the news of Noctis' engagement to Lunafreya is officialised, and then announced.

Noctis is quiet, all through the meeting where preperations for the wedding are being made. He speaks up only once - to insist on being allowed to bring Prompto Argentum as a member of his retinue. Several councilmen protest, but then Cor Leonis speaks up to vouch for the boy, and - well. No one wants to argue against Cor the Immortal, Insomnia's undefeated Lord Marshall.

And then, after - he's still quiet, but it's less the resigned, blank silence that had radiated from him during the meeting, and more something pensive, a reflection turned inward. Gladio almost wants to ask him if he's okay, but something about his silence in that moment begs not to be broken. It's almost as if he's on the precipice of some great realisation or decision, and something - some _one_ \- like Gladio interjecting themselves into the situation could only bring about ruin.

So, he stays quiet, and follows Noct to his room, where he guards the door overnight. Inside the room, there's still just silence - no telltale sounds of the television, or music or videogames. Just...a silence that would almost be eerie if it wasn't already weighed down with an almost unbearable melancholy.

He sighs, and settles himself against the wall for a long night. Truth be told, while in the citadel - as they have been while wedding and truce preperations are made, and Gladio _knows_ Noctis longs to go back to his apartment - there's no real need for Gladio to be guarding this door, guarding his King, as he is...but it's a habit by now, and more than that, if something does happen - either to break that heavy silence or just in general - he wants to be there, right there, so he can be at Noctis' side in less than a heartbeat.

Is it stupid? Maybe. Possibly. Honestly, more than likely. But hey - Gladio has never claimed to be the brains of their group (that's Ignis' job). He's just the Shield, and it's his duty to protect his King - even in situations where it seems like protection is the last thing he'd ever need.

He doesn't sleep that night. Partly because he's on alert for if Noctis needs him, and partly because leaning up against the palace walls isn't exactly the most comfortable place in the world to sleep (though he has slept in worse - a tent with his dad, for instance, is one of the first places that come to mind). When Noctis finally leaves his room during the grey area of predawn, Gladio blinks and is almost convinced that he did end up falling asleep at some point, because there's no way this is anything but a dream. He's never so much as heard of Noctis waking up this early for anything short of Ignis dragging him out of bed by his hair, let alone seen such a miracle with his own two eyes.

The bags under Noctis eyes are dark, almost like twin bruises pressed into his skin, and Gladio winces when the prince turns a haggard look to him, looking mildly surprised to see him outside of his room. "You didn't go back to your place last night?" He asks, and Gladio shakes his head.

"You were practically in full on zombie mode," Gladio says. "Wanted to be nearby in case you overloaded your brain from thinking too hard."

Noctis rolls his eyes but doesn't laugh. That's almost where Gladio says he knows that something is definitely wrong - he is, after all, hilarious - but he has to admit, the joke wasn't exactly the best material he's ever pulled out. You can't blame him, though, he thinks - he has, after all, been awake all night.

Just like Noctis had been, it seems, and Gladio asks him what, exactly, he'd been doing in his room all night as they start to make their way through the citadel, to that day's meeting that had been scheduled at the close of the one the day before. Neither of them are exactly enthused to be going - especially since it's pretty much going to be much the same as yesterday, with a bunch of old nobles and councilmen hashing over the same issues and queries over and over again, and talking in circles as they just keep disagreeing with eachother.

"I was thinking," Noctis answers softly. "I mean, there's a lot to think about."

"There is," Gladio agrees cautiously. "Did you come to any conclusions, while you were thinking?"

Noctis sighs, and closes his eyes for just a brief moment. When he opens them again, Gladio stills - because those eyes have turned to him, and their usually burning blue have darkened, turned a dull shade of _bleak_.

"I'm going to marry Luna," he says, and there's a finality to his tone. It isn't sadness so much as it is an empty grief - not like Noctis is mourning the fact that he will have to marry the Lady Lunafreya, but that he's mourning the possibilities of life that would have been open to him had he any other choice. Because he _does_ love Luna, this Gladio knows - but he has never, not once, seen any hint of that love being truly romantic beyond those first stirrings of a long burning childhood crush, that he thought had mostly burned down to litlle more than lingering embers _years_ ago. "And from that marriage, I'm going to bring peace."

A spark of determination seems to relight the fire those eyes, and Gladio - for just second - presses his own shut in a moment of quite aquiescience.

It is a promise.

-x-

The day Gladiolus Amicitia truly comes to bear the title of King's Shield is a day he wishes had never happened - a truly ironic thought, given how many years have passed with him longing for exactly what he has now been given; a true King of his own, in name and in title, to serve and protect.

It wasn't meant to be like this, though. It was never meant to be _like this_. It had meant to be - he didn't even know. Regis would abdicate, Regis would retire...he'd always imagined that his father would be there to smile at him as he ascended to his own title alongside Noctis. He'd never imagined that he'd earn it in a trial by fire, triggered by the blood of both of their father's.

He hopes Iris made it out of Insomnia okay. He hopes that his father managed to die before his King, defending his King, so that he will pass into the Fields with his honour intact, his duty fulfilled.

He hopes that he isn't the last Amicitia left alive, because he has a sinking feeling that if he is, then the line of Shields will die with him - because he honestly, in his bleakest moments, can't imagine making it out of their current situation alive, not so long as he has Noctis to fight for and defend, not when his King is so determined to take his kingdom and crystal back with just their rag tag band of four.

There's something to be said for guerilla tactics, though, and even though he's been existing in a perpetual state of _adrenalin_ since the fall of Insomnia, every small victory they tear from the grasp of the empire relaxes him a little. He's almost lulled into believing that they _can_ pull a miracle from the jaws of their overwhelming defeat.

And then Altissia happens.

And everything solid he has left in the world falls apart, crumbling from beneath him.

-x-

He doesn't want to be mad at Noctis. He _doesn't_.

Just like he didn't want to hurt Prompto, on the train. He didn't mean it, not at all - he still did it, though, even if he really, truly regretted it.

So it doesn't matter how much it hurts him, or how much he hates it - he stews in his anger, stokes it up and lets it flow out. Noctis is too lost in his own grief to be of any use once they get to Niflheim, and they get closer and closer to that terrible, final destination each day. Next to Gladio, Prompto is probably the only one of them still truly suited and ready for battle, and while the two of them - swift ranged agility and overwhelming, close quarters crushing force - make a spectacular combination, he isn't exactly 'confident' in their ability to carve their way through the Imperial masses while towing along and protecting the two currently weaker links in their party.

So, since he can't pull a magical miracle cure for Ignis out of his ass - he imagines the only person with that particular power would have been the Oracle, with her legendary goddess blessed powers of healing, and isn't that just a thought that makes him wince - he focuses in on the one person he thinks he has even the slightest chance of helping: his grief stricken, slightly catatonic King.

Granted, he has absolutely _no idea_ of how it is he's meant to help Noctis, so he instinctively falls back on that old faithful default setting for dealing with reluctant princes who would rather stew in their minds than get up and face the issue: anger.

And as much as he hates to do it, it is the first thing that gets a _real_ reaction out of Noctis. He watches his King grit his teeth and snarl out his own rage at Gladio, and can't help but feel a deep, overwhelming sense of relief. Lost in a tangle of grief and loss and undirected violence he may be, but he isn't truly _lost_. His King is still in there, somewhere - just hurting, and struggling to face reality.

To face himself, and his own destiny.

Still - after things reach a boiling point, and Ignis proves once more why he is, always and forever, the brains of the operation, Gladio is almost convinced that they're once more on the right track. That they can do this, can _win this_.

And that's when Ardyn Izunia, or the gods, or fate, or - _something_ beyond Gladio's abilities as a mere mortal to defend against - comes along and snuffs out the light of the sun -

\- and takes Noctis along with it.

-x-

After Noctis is absorbed into the crystal, the darkness comes on fast. The complete loss of the sun isn't instant - it takes a few months for darkness to completely envelope the world in what seems like a neverending night, but from the moment the King of Light vanishes from their world, daylight is a fleeting resource, and humans are no longer at the top of the food chain. Every night brings more settlements brough to wreck and ruin, and each night is longer than the last.

Moving past each broken town makes something deep inside Gladio flinch everytime; with guilt, with horror, with grief and sorrow - but as much as he wants to be _out there_ , fighting against the hordes of daemons that encroach further and further into civilisation with each nightfall, he has another duty that requires his pressing attention.

 _It is the duty of the Shield to protect the King_.

Leaving the crystal in the center of Gralea hadn't been an option - especially considering how the entire Imperial capital had appeared to be nothing more than a daemon nest at that point in time. If Izunia had been right - and Gladio had no idea why they were trusting anything that slimeball said, but it wasn't like they had any other choice - then when Noctis exited the crystal, he'd be dazed - confused. Chucking him straight into a daemon nest however many years strong didn't exactly seem like the smartest move, in that case.

So, slowly, ever so slowly, Gladio and the others are making their way across the continents to Angelgard, where Ignis is certain that the crystal - and therefore Noctis - will be safe; from daemons, from bandits...and hopefully, from Ardyn Izunia (though said asshole had vanished completely shortly after Noctis and showed no signs of resurfacing anytime soon).

It's a race against the ever shortening lifespan of the sun and daylight - all three of them are harrowingly, intensely aware of the fact that there will soon be nothing but darkness around them, and all light in the world will be artificial, man made.

Gladio is determined that they _will_ make it, though, and in the end, they do - placing the crystal under lock and key on Angelgard feels almost final, and it doesn't surprise Gladio at all that shortly thereafter, the world experiences what looks to be its final sunset for quite a while.

He breathes in deep, and places a hand on the crystal that holds his King before he makes for the boat that will take the three of them back to the mainland. The stone almost seems to pulse under his hand, and he could swear that for just a moment, it had felt warm - almost searing - to the touch.

The feeling is fleeting, however, and fades within the space of a second it takes to breathe, to blink.

He closes his eyes, and his nails scrape against the slick, unmarred surface of the crystal he is touching as his hand curls automatically into a fist.

 _This isn't forever,_ he thinks. _You'll wake up one day soon, and when you do, I'll be there._

To fight by your side.

To protect you.

To save the world.

It is a promise.

-x-

Years pass. With every night, every day, every week and month that goes by, Gladio waits for the sun to return. For Ardyn to appear, just so he can punch that dick in the face, or introduce him to the business end of his sword.

For his King to come back to him.

He never does. None of that ever happens, and one year becomes two becomes three becomes four becomes five becomes nine. Nearly a decade goes by, and nothing changes, except maybe for Gladio himself; for the people still alive. The world sits stagnant but they're still there, surviving and adapting, and so long as they have their way, they're not going anywhere anytime soon.

Sometimes, Gladio dreams. He dreams of a happier life, one where Insomnia never fell and there was never any farce of a marriage contracted as an excuse for Niflheim to invade; of a world where Noctis isn't trapped in a magic rock and Iris isn't risking her life everyday just to eke out a small bit of meaning in the existence they find themselves living. He knows that she thinks she has to do it - even has come to find it fulfilling, if not fun - but that doesn't mean he's particularly fond of the fact that it's his _little sister_ out there, putting herself at enough risk to earn fame and a legend on par with Cor the Immortal's (who's still kicking it, so maybe that guy actually can't die).

Most of the time, though, his dreams aren't happy ones. He dreams that the darkness will never end, that it will drown him - that he'll die before he ever sees the dawn once more; before he ever meets his King once more.

And then - close to approaching the tenth anniversary of the long night and Noctis' time spent in the crystal on Angelgard - one night, his sleep is plagued by neither a pleasant dream nor a far too realistic nightmare.

Instead, he closes his eyes to sleep, and blinks to awareness before a goddess.

Shiva smiles at him, and the cold Gladio feels has nothing to do with the ice the Glacian wields.

"Is he -" he chokes on his own words, can't spit them out - it's too horrible a thought to even consider, but why else would one of the Six appear before _him?_ "Is he dead?"

Shiva doesn't laugh, not in any audible sense, not in any way a human would consider a laugh, but something about her collected visage betrays a fond, exasperated amusment.

 _Your King yet lives, Shield_ , she says. _What words I bring to you may keep him that way._

Gladio blinks. "A way to keep him alive?" He asks cautiously, and this time Shiva _does_ actually smile.

 _It is the duty of the Shield to protect the King, is it not?_ She asks, and he can hear the rhetoric in her words clearly (and has to admit, he _is_ slightly swayed by them). _If I told you that to defeat the Accursed and bring once more unto Eos the Light of Dawn, the Chosen King of Light must die, what would you say in answer?_

Gladio swallows, his throat dry, tight. He gets the sense that there is only one right answer to this question - this test - and knows, just _knows_ , that if he truly wants to protect Noctis, there is no way in hell, heaven or earth that he can risk getting it wrong.

"Is there really no other way?"

 _A sacrifice must be paid for the star to be cleansed of its scourge,_ Shiva says. _With the light of the crystal within him, the Chosen King leads_.

And where the King led, of course, the Shield followed. Always, forever and into the dark eternity. Gladio closes his eyes, thinks, and then opens them once more, to meet Shiva's unearthly, inhuman gaze with his own burning determination. "A sacrifice," he says, with a wisdom born from over a decade of suffering and surviving. "Even if Noct is the one with the power of the crystal's light - does he need to be the one to pay the blood price?"

Shiva smiles - for real this time, an almost human quirking of her frostbite blue lips that couldn't be mistaken for anything else - and Gladio knows that he has given the correct answer.

He nods, grim, and the goddess bows her head to him in acknowledgement. Something passes between the two of them in that moment, and he knows that - different reasons, agendas, or what, they are allies in this - in keeping Noct alive. And to fulfill that desire, they know what they must do - what price must be paid.

It is, in the end, simply a final addition to what Gladio has spent his life building the foundations of _himself_ upon.

It is a desperate promise.

|[-O-]|

Noctis opens his eyes, which is, honestly, more than just a little surprising, considering that he was pretty sure that he was meant to be _dead_.

Everything - every part of his body, aged ten years beyond what he was mentally used to - aches like Cindy had just run her truck over him, backed up and then repeated the process about twenty times (which, considering what his faulty memory offers up in small tidbits, may not actually be that far from the truth - unbelievably old man or not, Ardyn Izunia hit like a goddamn _iceberg_ ), but he forces him to sit up, and then to his feet.

He was lying by the foot of the throne, he sees, which makes sense because it's the last place he remembers being: taking the photo from Prompto, leaving his friends - his brothers - behind on the steps to the citadel...and then taking a seat on the throne for what should have been the first and last time as he waited for the Lucii to take the blood price owed by their line as payment for the cleansing of the scourge.

So why is he alive? It doesn't make sense -

And then he sees it. Him.

And the world drops out from underneath him.

"Gladio," he breathes, voice choked, strangled, and he falls to his knees as he takes in the image before him.

It's deceptively peaceful. The weapons of the Lucii have left no tears in skin or clothing, no telltale wounds or traces of blood. If not for the complete and unnatural stillness of the man before him, Noctis could almost believe that his Shield was just sleeping.

But. He wasn't. Wasn't sleeping.

 _How?_ He wonders, and registers that he's sobbing through his mental turmoil, on the edge of complete and total hysteria. And in the end, even he has to admit the question is somewhat of a stupid one - _it is the duty of the Shield to protect the King_ , after all. The two of them had both been raised on those words; there's no doubt in Noctis' mind that Gladiolus Amicitia would have found a way to make sure he went first, in place of Noctis himself, even if he had to kill gods or tear a hole through space and time in order to achieve such a feat.

 _Don't cry_.

Noctis stills, a breathes deep through the tears. For a moment, he had almost thought he could hear -

 _It's me, idiot._ A sensation like a hand ruffling through his hair, and Noctis jerks around to see nothing at all around him. _Hey, are you listening? What kind of king chokes on snot while crying, huh?_

He isn't sure if this is a hallucination, just the final straw that broke the camel's back, or if he is - somehow, someway, somewhy - actually hearing Gladio's voice, but in that moment, whichever it is, he's more than happy to play along.

He lets out a laugh, quiet and slightly bitter, and wipes away the tears making their way down his cheeks with a sleeve cuff. "What kind of Shield up and leaves his King like this, huh?" he chokes out.

A moment of silence, almost like a hesitation, and then Gladio - or whatever it, _he_ , is, speaks up once more. _The Dawn has returned_ , he says. _The people will need their King to lead them; the world needs rebuilding._ A break, as if the phantom was taking in a deep breath. _Get up, Your Majesty,_ he says _. Stand on your own two feet, and walk tall._

Noctis almost starts crying again at having his own words turned back on him - but instead he nods, and staggers to his feet once more.

He remembers Gladio, all those years ago, forcing sense into him through a blunt, ugly anger. It seems that over the past decade, his friend has - finally - learnt some semblance of tact, even if his priorities haven't changed.

He can't see the phantom, but he can somehow just sense that he's still near, so he nods, to show he understands. If Gladio wants him to embrace his destiny and fulfill his duty, he'll more than succeed.

It is a promise.


End file.
